£ 3 s ys 



Publishers' »-pHE LOVES OF GREAT MEN, by Salvarona is practically a sequel 
Introductory to the "Wisdom of Passion " by the same author. A work, which 

Greeting * (in the opinion of the Medical Times, N. Y., of January, 1902) sur- 

passes in its philosophy of the Passions those of the two great treatises of 
Spinoza and Hume. The " Wisdom of Passion " being of " wider extent, 
and the subject handled with greater clearness and force." The book re- 
ceived the lofty praise of Lombroso, the Academy of France and the Boston 
Transcript. Professors of the University of Chicago classed it with the 
philosophies of Browning and Shelley as one of the great books of 1901. 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox gave the book a half -page notice in the N. Y. four- 
nal and the Boston Post. In such organs as Public Opinion, the Outlook, 
the Boston Globe and the Arena, the work was noticed as a book of high 
merit. The Loves of Great Men advocates the theory that all Love 
whatsoever implies an hypnosis of either the Senses, the Lower Passions, 
or the Loftier Affections of the Soul. 

The " Loves of Great Men," or the " Wisdom of Passion," will be 
mailed prepaid for #1.50 postal note. 

The " Wisdom of Passion " is bound in Common cloth, Common 
paper, and is a Book of 252 pages, i2mo. 

"The Loves of Great Men" is richly bound in imported imperial, dark 
brown velour, with inlaid leather title, and handsome lining. „ The book is 
printed in very large primer type, fine paper and contains with its introduc- 
tion and notes over 100 pages. It is a beautiful book designed for the 
table ; not for the book shelf. The poetic-prose essays were written in the 
spring of 1901 and intended to form a part of the " Wisdom of Passion." 
The " Loves of Great Men " was written in the late spring of 1902. 

The Mystic River Book Company, Publishers, 

Everett Station, Boston, Mass. 



i*y- 




Salvarona 



THF '.'BflASY OF 

CONGRESS, 
Two C 

i 902 

CnPVBIOHT ENTOV 

'Cun b - . ^ £ T- 
Ct.ARS^ XXo. No. 



r 






> 



Copyright, 1902, 

BY 

Harry Guy Waters 



TO 

MY ILLUSTRIOUS ADMIRER 

LOMBROSO 

the savant of italy 

as a token of admiration 

and an acknowledgment of what i owe 

to his hearty endorsement 

of my recent treatise 

The Wisdom of Passion 




|Y friend Lombroso's opinion, that The 
great strength of Passion at the Moral Rights 
moment of Conception is the secret of Love 
of the intensity of Genius and In- 
sanity, has much to support it. Be 
this as it may, Common Sense clearly indicates, 
however, that intensity of temperament and disposi- 
tion increases the Violence and Ungovernableness 
of the expectations of Genius. And this extreme 
intensity of violent expectation urges the Genius, 
with his brother the Madman, to trespass the bounds 
of public customs in ethics. He who through in- 
tensity of temperament violates public custom must 
therefore suffer public disapproval. This is why 
Jesus, the Genius, suffered the same fate as the 
thieves. He with them had violated the current 
custom of thought in popular ethics, only, of course, 
in a different way. Urged thereto by the splendid 
spiritual intensity of his spiritual and moral nature. 
In the condemnation of Jesus public opinion and 
law were wrong. In the case of the thieves, public 
opinion and law were only half right; for American 
law would not tolerate the crucifixion of a thief. 
Be this as it may, the Honor of Love is based on 
the Public and Religious Rights of Love, i. <?., of 



The our community or immediate neighbors. Not on 

Moral Rights the Private Rights of the Individual to Love. If I 
of Love Love at all, I must Love according to Public Rule, 

Law, and Custom ; not as an Individual. This is 
right, just, and proper. For if I am depraved, neu- 
rotic, 2ifille dejoie, insane, jilt, degenerate, or crimi- 
nal — my own erotic impulses may urge me in a 
quick series to a Polygamous Free Love; and 
thereby to the wantonness of perhaps three hun- 
dred and sixty-five secret Lovers a year, that is, if 
the secret motives, and selfish propensities of my 
Love, change quickly enough, and I have that num- 
ber of secret selfish points to gain. The Rules 
governing the Public and Religious Rights of 
Love, as expressed in Public and Religious Laws, 
justly forbid such conditions, however. Public 
rights imply Private limitations. I have little 
patience with the tendency of the age to reduce all 
sin and rational violation of spiritual and moral law 
to disease. Nevertheless, there is such a thing as 
irrational love. Thus, Genius and Insanity are 
admitted exceptions to normal rules. In the " Wis- 
dom of Passion," I defined Liberty to be the equity 
of the expectations of the Passions of the Individ- 
ual. The equity of the Love of the Individual is 



therefore based on the Public rights of Love, as The 
expressed in Public and Religious Laws. Whilst Moral Rights 
admitting this fact, I have, however, in such poetic- of Love 
prose essays, as " Love of Independence," and 
others, emphasized this inevitable conflict of the 
ages between Individualism versus Public Customs. 
Or, of that existing between the higher ideals of 
Genius and those of the Lower Common Place. 
In these poetic-prose essays I assume that Public 
Laws are relative ; and, that the loftier standards of 
Genius and of Individuals are the only hopes of 
individual progress. Of course, this law is an in- 
evitable opposition to the other law, which assumes 
that the highest rights of the Individual are, once 
for all, infallibly expressed in our present Civil and 
Religious Laws and Customs. It is for my readers 
to solve the problem. One page of the moral phi- 
losophy of the Bonnie Brier Bush, of Sartor Re- 
sartus, of Tolstoi, or Ruskin, is worth more as a 
pure, sweet, moral guide, than all the volumes of 
the Secular Free Lovers put together. Seeing that 
these Secular ideas are sometimes used as a means 
of mental and moral seduction, to gain social sexual 
power, and for the unconscious ruin of homes. 




fjEVERER laws are needed for the Protect 
better moral protection of Women the Women 
against the terrible diabolism of that 
class of Men who simply attract them 
to Ruin. This class of Men are far 
more dangerous than the Women of this type ; and 
accomplish a wider Evil. Being utterly destitute 
of Great Affection and Sympathy themselves, 
both types are, of course, unarrested criminals. 
Such Men are not, like Alfieri or Tasso, troubled 
with Melancholia, Insanity, or Plans of Suicide, 
because of the Profound Intensity of their Love, or 
Affection. Being cool, heartless, and cold-blooded, 
and treating the most sacred loves of life and 
religion, as a mere laughing sport, and jest, they 
attract Women for pure fiendish sport and conquest. 
As elsewhere stated, I shall devote my next volume 
to an explanation of the Hypnosis of the Sympa- 
thies of Women by such Men. But to be scientific, 
just, and fair, to both sides, I shall simply confine 
myself in this book to the Hypnosis of the Sympa- 
thies of Great Men by Women. Keeping in mind 
the terrible fact, that the number of the Hearts 
of Lovely Women broken by Men, immeasurably 



Protect outnumber the Hearts of Men as broken by Women. 

the Women Of this cold-blooded, heartless type of Man, how- 
ever, whose whole aim in life is the humorous sport 
and ruin of the Affections of Women, it can never 
be affirmed that he would owe his own ruin, in the 
lines of Byron, to the fact, that, 

' His Love was passion's essence — as a tree 
On fire by lightning, with ethereal flame 
Kindled he was, and blasted.' 




IT seems to be the rule The 
rather than the exception Premise 
that Great Men, and some 
types of Great Women, 
invariably go wrong in their Love 
affairs. There is evidently some pro- 
found psychological reason for this, 
apart from the purely moral aspect. 
In the author's opinion, a great capac- 
ity for Tenderness and Sympathy, 
is, in a paradox, a great weakness. 
Such a capacity is oftentimes a char- 
acteristic of Great Genius. The 
greater the capacity for Sympathy of 
a Great Mind, the greater will be its 
capacity to be influenced. George 
Sand first throws herself at Chopin 
until finally he is unable to resist her. 
Every soul possesses the ability to 
be fatally fascinated by one person 



The to the exclusion of all the rest of the 
Premise people in the world. It must there- 
fore be considered as axiomatical ly 
true, that all Love whatsoever im- 
plies degrees of Hypnosis. The per- 
ception of what, at first, appeared to 
be magnificent ideals of the Highest 
Spiritual Beauty, often proves the 
source of our attraction and ruin. 
We say, in our haste, all Ideals are 
liars. We are mistaken. Our Sun 
of Ideal Beauty is still there. Our 
Clouds of Despair have for the 
moment overshadowed it. When, 
however, we are carried away by a 
fierce ungovernable interest in any 
one person we are poor judges of our 
own sanity. It is reported of John 
Bright that he once said of Glad- 
stone, " I doubt that man's sanity." 



Shortly afterwards, Gladstone, on The 
seeing a picture of John Bright, re- Premise 
marked, " I wonder if that man is 
sane?" I shall deal justly with the 
Woman's side of this question in my 
next book, and with keener analysis. 
Human Nature is always made up 
of a mixture of clay and gold. In 
our Idealizing Raptures, we over- 
value the percentage of the Gold in 
others. In our moments of Selfish 
Fear for the protection of ourselves, 
we over-estimate the percentage of 

the Clay in others. 

Salvarona. 



Boston, Mass., U.S.A., 
Midsummer, 
MDCCCCII. 




Irrational We is a Loves of 

disease; not a sin. An Great Men 

hypnosis ; not a thing of 

ethics. The capacity to love 
greatly is the capacity to err greatly. 
Had Robert Burns' sympathies been 
less strong, his errors had been less. 
Burns suffered from the loss of self 
control because of the greatness of 
his sympathetic nature. On the other 
hand, had Boccaccio never fallen 
madly in love with Joanna, or Dante 
with Beatrice, the " Decameron" and 
the " Inferno " would never have been 
written. Burns, Byron, and Boccac- 
cio were all subject to hypnosis of 
the sympathies. The story of the 
author who loved not wisely but too 
well is as old as Ovid, and as young 

i 



Loves of as Kipling and Ruskin. The hyp- 
GreatMen nosis of the sympathies of such men 
always implies an exaggerated sus- 
ceptibility to suggestion, induced by 
a feminine influence. The fact that 
such conditions of love are, in reality, 
conditions of hypnosis is seen where 
the artist or author has been known 
to helplessly struggle with all the 
strength of his will against the sym- 
pathetic impulse. The forsaking of 
Octavia for Cleopatra by Mark 
Antony was an hypnosis. The cele- 
brated Frenchwoman Ninon de 
Lenclos possessed this power to 
such a degree that Larochefoucald 
consulted her ' upon his maxims, 
Moliere upon his comedies, and 
Scarron upon his romances. What 
but the hypnotic fascination of Lady 



Hamilton led Nelson, the greatest Loves of 
of English admirals, on to his in- Great Men 
fatuated attachment? In the moral 
courage to accept responsibility at 
all hazards no man ever surpassed 
Nelson. The fiery enthusiasm and 
intensity of his tenderness made him 
an easy mark. The proof whether 
a man, when hypnotized by sympathy 
into love, is likely to be ruined de- 
pends on whether the man is known 
to be intense. Alfieri's affair at 
Turin, and the agonies he under- 
went because of the woman he fell 
in love with, clearly proved hypnosis. 
He was conscious of a coercion hold- 
ing him in bondage against his own 
will. Alfieri's condition showed the 
unlimited subjection of his will to the 
will of the woman; the domination 



Loves of of his will by her. The bondage of 
Great Men love is thus the hypnosis of the sym- 
pathies. All great genius is charac- 
terized by its intensity of feeling. So 
that the dependence of the genius on 
the one he may be in love with dif- 
fers from the normal always in the 
degree of this intensity. Genius 
means intensity of affection or it 
means nothing. Intensity often over- 
balances clearness of reason in great 
poets. For intensity of affection gives 
rise to an inertia of the will. To 
awaken Love is always to create a 
susceptibility to be influenced by the 
suggestions of the one who awakens 
it. The condition of Charlotte von 
Kalb, one of the most brilliant women 
of Germany, was unfortunate in this 
sense when she sought a divorce 



in order to marry Richter. In a Loves of 
similar condition was the woman who Great Men 
committed suicide because Richter 
could not return her love. The 
love of Rousseau utterly destroyed 
his power of will. Contrast him 
with Richelieu, who makes even the 
Queen-mother Maria de Medicis to 
bow before his unbending spirit, and 
to withdraw into exile. The most dis- 
tinguished lover of Dame Recamier in 
her later years is known to have been 
Chateaubriand, who visited her nearly 
every day. But Chateaubriand was 
in his decline. The social triumphs 
of noble women all have a more or 
less hypnotic origin. There come to 
us moods in which we feel that our 
expectations of appreciation are but 
the jetsam of the common follies of 

5 



Loves of experience which we throw into the 
Great Men Sea of Hope. To expect sympathy 
always implies our inability to live 
alone in the world. Because, how- 
ever, this Wandering Jew for Sym- 
pathetic Approval cannot die in the 
Soul, the desire for Fame is born. 
Common Sense indicates that the 
Harbor of Sympathy is a part of the 
Bay of Success. For no one paints 
a picture or writes a book who does 
not expect some degree of apprecia- 
tion. Praise comes to be considered 
a tributary to the River of Worth. 
Sympathy is an affair of the heart ; 
not of the head. Artists, Authors, 
and Editors often have big hearts as 
well as large intellects. A certain 
class of them reverence the apprecia- 
tion of cultured womanhood. Few 
6 



of them realize, however, how dan- Loves of 
gerous such cataracts of Intellectual Great Men 
and Moral Desire for Sympathy may 
prove. How, after all, the winds of 
Appreciation may do more to impede 
than to assist the navigation of the 
Soul. By reason of a long previous 
life of shameful neglect and bitter 
experience, this longing for the in- 
tellectual cultured companionship of 
lofty women may become a fierce 
impulse in the life of an artist or 
author. If so, his first successful 
picture may bring to him a concealed 
woe. The Stoic afterwards becomes 
his ideal ; for he realizes that sym- 
pathy and appreciation are full of 
terrible dangers. An hypnosis of the 
artist's or author's sympathies means, 
therefore, an hypnosis of his will. 

7 



Loves of And the only way to get through the 
Great Men mountains of some artists' or authors' 
lives is through the tunnel of their 
sympathies. A great heart is often a 
great curse. It is but natural that 
the woman who gives the artist or 
the author the most intellectual sym- 
pathy reaps from him the most love. 
Normally, the artist's or author's soul 
is a city, defended by several forts 
of Selfishness along its walls. By a 
fortified citadel of unbiased Judg- 
ment. A great Sympathy destroys 
this. Intensity of affection holds him 
in bondage. Chivalry expresses the 
apotheosis of his condition. Because 
chivalry implies,* as some one has 
said, a systematic, poetical develop- 
ment of the bondage of Love. To be 
in a condition, therefore, where we 
8 



desire Sympathy is to be in a peril- Loves of 
ous condition. The peril consists in Great Men 
that Desired Sympathy, as an har- 
bor, is superior to all others, in its 
accessibility of praise-craft, in every 
variation of mood. This is why the 
artist or author, who perchance has 
been hungering all his life for highly 
cultured sympathy, rarely takes that 
sympathy at its true value when it 
does come. His head has not been 
turned. But his heart has. And it 
is the heart, not the head, that is the 
parent of all tragedies. Grant there- 
fore in the artist or author an irresist- 
ible impulse for feminine sympathy, 
such an impulse is sometimes more 
likely to prove an artist's or author's 
or great man's social ruin than his 
success. It marred the life of Sir 

9 



Loves of Walter Raleigh. It doomed Shelley 
Great Men and others to suicide. It cursed the 
life of Rousseau. It prowled into 
the sadness of Liszt. It blighted 
Byron. It was a moaning river in 
the life of Dante. It caused George 
Sand to hunt up Chopin. It was the 
despair of Sallust. It made the heart 
of George Eliot beat for Lewes. It 
ruined Camoens, the Portuguese poet. 
It cut the locks of Samson. It drove 
Alfieri temporarily insane. It was 
the woe of Heine. It was an angry 
cloud in the life of Donizetti. It 
destroyed Burns. It ate out the soul 
of Ruskin. It was a wave of dark- 
ness for Bulwer Lytton. It shadowed 
Poe and Thorwaldsen. It was the 
secret of the wail of Schopenhauer 
It caused Dumas to tear out his 
10 



wife's hair. Goethe felt it. It weak- Loves of 
ened Sylla. It made Napoleon pes- Great Men 
simistic. It wilted Fodero. It blasted 
Beecher. It injured Socrates. It was 
the degradation of Mark Antony. 
Sir Isaac Newton in his old age was 
afraid of it. It was the gloom of 
Vincenzo. It was the cause of the 
banishment of Ovid. It drove Tasso 
to a cell. It broke the heart of Col- 
lins. It sent De Quincey after Ann 
of Venusburg. It threatened Milton. 
It shadowed Chopin. It lowered the 
genius of Foscolo. It left its ter- 
rible pathos in Paganinni. It drove 
Turner to isolation and eccentricity 
and pessimism. It hurled Salvator 
to sensuality and the style of desola- 
tion. It darkened the life of Alfred 
de Musset. It painted the Vampire 

1 1 



Loves of of Kipling. It blighted Dickens. It 
Great Men is the secret of the vulgarity of the 
unintellectual faces of many of the 
Madonnas of Italian artists. It was 
the woe of Cavour. It had its sad 
effect on the life of Tennyson. Its 
bursts of lightning smote the soul of 
Caesar. In its relation to men less 
widely known to fame, the law is the 
same. The greater the heart of the 
artist or author, the greater will be 
the possibility of his danger. Desire 
for appreciative sympathy may be- 
come a monomania. In such cases 
the sympathy of the woman of brilliant 
genius appeals irresistibly to the art- 
ist's or author's educated sympathies. 
His work henceforth is a fire, produced 
by a concussion of flint and steel. 
Suppose, too, that the majority of the 
12 



women he has previously associated Loves of 
with have been illiterates, fools, com- Great Men 
mon-places, or degenerates. Then 
the advent of a cultured woman into 
his life throws him into the condition 
of Tantalus. If he accept her sym- 
pathy, he may reap the fierce mad- 
dening jealousy of relatives, her chil- 
dren, or her husband, or a prison cell. 
Or it may end in his melancholia, 
insanity, or suicide. On the other 
hand, if he does not accept it, but in- 
stantly cuts the importuned acquaint- 
ance, repeatedly forced upon him at 
first against his will, the artist or 
author has possibly missed the 
supreme opportunity of his life for 
laying the foundations of an endur- 
ing intellectual friendship. Obviously 
the fire-escapes of friendship are 

13 



Loves of constructed of very poor material. 

Great Men Where the desire for intellectual sym- 
pathy in such cases is imperious, it 
renders the will weak and inert. The 
flowering season of the Soul seems 
past ; or there is an extraordinary de- 
velopment of genius as an effort of the 
intensity of the aroused Love. On 
the other hand, Intensity of Sympathy 
in man is always a sign of weakness. 
The inordinate sympathy for lofty 
women by Angelo Firenzuola, the 
Italian author, was the cause of his 
eulogies of the gentler sex. On the 
other hand, so sensitive was Vincenzo, 
the lyrical poet of Italy, to the ap- 
plause of women, that he consigned 
all his exquisite love inspirations to 
the flames because he was deeply 
wounded in his affections. One of 

14 



the great characteristics of Genius is Loves of 
its vast capacity for the vehement ex- Great Men 
pression of the Passion of Love, and 
its inability to sustain unbroken rela- 
tions of mere conventional friendship. 
In fact Love is similar to the passion 
of Genius, in that a great Genius is 
always intolerably jealous of his ar- 
tistic, scientific, poetic or philosophi- 
cal ideal. The jealous rage of John- 
son when contradicted, the furious jeal- 
ousy of Schopenhauer, the quarrels 
of Michael Angelo, the fiery indig- 
nation of Byron and Dante, are in 
evidence. And what shall we say of 
Leibnitz and Newton? Both Love 
and Genius are characterized in their 
highest ratios by a fiery exclusiveness. 
A wild ungovernable intolerance of dis- 
appointment. A martyrlike devotion 

15 



Loves of to a solitary ideal. An incessant pin- 
GreatMen ing and longing to be at a perfect 
oneness and harmony with the ideal 
selected by it. Thus, whilst every 
Genius has the capacity for some 
form of great Love, every great 
Lover is not a Genius. Usually, the 
Genius has very few friends. His 
very nature renders him incapable of 
friendship. At the same time Gen- 
iuses are the most wonderful Lovers 
of all history. As examples, take 
Paderewski, the Brownings, Tenny- 
son, Byron, Burns, Shelley. The 
tragic side of it all seems to be that 
flattering hopes and delusive dreams 
are often the common stock-in-trade 
of both the Genius and the Lover ; 
for both are insane wooers of an inef- 
fable ideal, and imaginary perfection. 
16 



Excess of sympathy and attachment Loves of 
are mania, and three-fourths of the Great Men 
race are born mad. In their general 
outlines the fate of many authors and 
artists and musicians have been simi- 
lar to that of the great poet Tasso. 
His brotherly affection toward Leo- 
nora, the Duke of Ferrara's sister, 
was at first kindly encouraged. They 
ran after him. They would not let 
him alone. Then jealousy of the poet 
arose with an attempt to repulse him. 
Finally, when the terrible pathos of 
his abnormal brotherly affection for 
Leonora became uncontrollable, those 
who first ran after him turned him 
finally over to the guardians of the 
law and a cell. He was left with- 
out a friend in the world. What 
sense Tasso had was grand, bizarre, 

17 



Loves of uncommon, out of the way. He had 
Great Men no common sense. Great Genius 
rarely has. Byron, in his " Lament of 
Tasso," tells the story. Both Byron 
and Goethe agree in the same inter- 
pretation. As Byron's foot-note will 
tell, the excuse offered for this awful 
treatment of Tasso, was the statement 
of the Duke of Ferrara, that Tasso 
was mad. In truth, all the craziness 
Tasso suffered from was an extreme 
purity of abnormal brotherly affection 
for Leonora, with whom he had spent 
his literary hours. The great poet 
had no idea that he was making him- 
self ridiculous, was compromising any- 
one, or was a bother. Whatever of a 
monomania of melancholy and sui- 
cide was subsequently developed in 
Tasso as the result of the thwarting 
18 



of this abnormal brotherly attachment, Loves of 
was probably due, finally, to system- Great Men 
atic cruelties of maddening disap- 
pointment. These double dealings 
were possibly practised on him cold- 
bloodedly. First, for sport, and, sec- 
ondly, in the hope that the system- 
atic cruelty would kill out the great 
poet's abnormal brotherly affection 
and sympathy for the Duke's sister. 
Whilst the attempt of the ruin of his 
splendid genius by the ruse was 
made the laughter of the Palace. 
Byron has told the story better than 
I can. Poor Tasso ! When, in his 
cell, the abnormal kindliness of his 
soul was so great, and his pity so 
supreme, that his affection and sym- 
pathy could not turn to hate. He 
answered their severity, duplicity, 

19 



Loves of • gibes, and taunting laughter with 
Great Men tears, and a broken heart. They 
could not kill out the great poet's 
fierce abnormal affection for them. 
Had they died, and he lived, he 
would have implored his jailer to 
have taken him to their graves per- 
chance; where, throwing his body in 
an ecstacy of incontrollable grief on 
the ground, he would have pressed 
his parched lips to the earth that cov- 
ered them, begging to be taken back 
to his cell to die. By this cruel and 
ghastly sacrifice of the great Tasso 
to the police authorities and a prison 
cell, the Duke of Ferrara freed Leo- 
nora from an intense friend, whose 
fierce, abnormal, and unremitting 
brotherly affection made his calls a 
peril. Leonora could also claim her 
20 



old social honor. The Duke's fierce Loves of 
jealousy would be allayed, and new Great Men 
opportunities could be speedily 
opened for the making of new friend- 
ships not imperiled by the intensities 
of genius. Though, for convenience 
sake, I have applied my theory of the 
hypnosis of the sympathies, in this 
essay, to the influence of women on 
men, the same law applies to the 
hypnosis of the sympathies of women 
by men. It wholly depends on 
whether the man or the woman de- 
clare their love first. If the confes- 
sion of love is first made by the 
woman to the man, as it is in uncon- 
ventional cases, and the man is pro- 
foundly influenced by it, then the 
hypnosis was first induced by the 
woman. The mistake with our present 

21 



Loves of theory of hypnosis is, that it implies 
Great Men that under all circumstances the hyp- 
nosis is attempted by the woman 
solely for the purpose of gaining 
some social advantage. This is as 
untrue, as it is nonsensical. The 
confession of the woman may grow 
out of the sweetest, purest motives 
that ever throbbed in a human soul. 
The amount of possible harm done 
to the man, though, under such cir- 
cumstances, will depend wholly on 
the intensity of the affections of the 
man. Because, intensity of affection 
as a disposition in a man, always 
means weakness of will to resist ap- 
peals of feminine sympathy. People 
continue to wonder why men of intel- 
lect like Byron, Burns, and Shelley 
were so easily influenced by lovely 

22 



women. They suppose that their Loves of 

great knowledge should save them, as Great Men 

they were so smart. But smartness 

and knowledge is not power. All of 

us can see farther than we can jump. 

To see means knowledge. To jump 

means power. If our power equalled 

our knowledge we should be able to 

jump as far as we can see. 



23 




§JOW and prurient minds always judge Explanatory 
people from their own low and pruri- Note 
ent passions. Dishonor to him who 
evil thinks. Even the possibility of 
purity of intention in the Loves of 
Great Men is denied by these Evil Thinkers. 
Such Evil Judges are, in the most cases, either 
Degenerates, Potential Criminals, Fanatics, or affect- 
edly scrupulous in conduct. Will is the power of 
the Senses, Affections, and Passions, to choose 
between the Persons and Objects we like best. 
Hypnosis — which implies the destruction of this 
power of choice and a form of temporary monoma- 
nia for one person or object — may be one of either 
three types : (a) Of the Senses. As in temporary 
or long sustained hallucinations of Seeing, Hearing, 
Touch, or Smell, (b) Of the Lower Passions. As 
confined to the mental conditions of lower animal 
types ; the physical and criminal passions of man. 
(c) Of the Affections of the Soul. As confined to 
Intellectual, Moral, and Ideal Love. The exagger- 
ated susceptibility of Great Men, and Moral Beings 
in general, to be sometimes carried insanely away 
by association with Lofty Women and Great Men, 



23 * 



Explanatory whom we consider to be Ideals of Perfection in our 
Note own way. This form of Hypnosis is the Hypnosis 

of the Moral and Artistic Sympathies. To this 
class belong the most — not all — of the Unfortu- 
nate Loves of Great Men. Of those, who, like Alfieri 
and Tasso, become for a short time unbalanced 
because of the Intensity of their Affections for their 
Ideal Types of Women. Ignorant and Low per- 
sons, having no knowledge of Psychology, or Moral 
Philosophy, always class the Loves of Great Men, 
Heroes, Authors, Poets, or Artists, with those of the 
Lower Animal Types. The judgment of a Beast is 
always Bestial. 

24* 



POETIC-PROSE ESSAYS 

AND 

PROVERBS OF LOVE 




OR Thine Own Self-Help Love of 
travel with me to the high- Self-Help 
lands of the Self. Roam 
for awhile on the upland 
meadows of thy spiritual imagination. 
Full Summer shall come in thy Soul, 
and the song-birds of June stir them- 
selves to sounds of Harmony within 
thee. Fireflies of Hope gleaming in 
the fields of Love. The thoughts se- 
lected by thee to stay in the pavilion 
of thy Mind do either make or mar 
thy life. All are ploughed under. 
Thy thoughts are forces, fashioning 
the conditions of thy future. Wander 
through the orchard aisles of Love; 
let not thy Soul become a weed-grown 
nook. Look the gold sun of God's 
great thought in the face, though it 

25 



Love of blind thee. Yea, though thy Soul be 
Self- Help veiled in a shivering mist of fear. 
Grow in Soul ; and the withered gray 
of thy Fears shall change to a summer 
red of Joys. O poor drowsy stream 
of Self, whispering a melancholy tune 
of Despair ! Let the glory of a new 
health and power burn in the glowing 
fields of thy Soul ! Yea, though a 
weeping mist of tears fill thy eyes. 
Ignorance and Sin and Death are 
the negations of the Ages. Trust 
the daybreak of Love ! The waves 
of the Word, creeping crimson up 
the sandy dunes of thy Life. There 
is no ultimate reality in evil ! Error 
hath no throne of pearl that shall not 
be razed with the march of Science. 
The bird of Love still sings beside 
the nest of Care. The force of thy 
26 



Mind is its Thought. Thou, O Soul, Love of 
art thine own physician, priest and Self Help 
king. Thou art thine own sword 
and lance of life ! Let not the canker- 
worm of thy Fear eat the petals of 
the flower of thy Divine Self. Hell 
is but wasted passion. The wild 
despair and agony of thine own con- 
sciousness, f Heaven has no location 
but in thine own breast ; in flaring / 
embers on the hearth of Love. Let 
greater Thoughts plow freer furrows 
through the wave and foam of thy 
Soul. / Ignorance breeds the bitter 
fruit of Doubt. From Doubt arises 
the Upas of Fear. From Fear comes 
suffering and death. In the laws of 
thy Consciousness, are disease and 
woe. Sin is a poisonous mist creep- 
ing among the shivering trees of the 

27 



Love of Soul's landscape. Thy Truth of 
Self-Help Being must mean to thee a more har- 
monious thinking and joy. For thee 
are the trills of the bird of Happi- 
ness in the woodland of Life! The 
discordant condition of thy mentality 
causeth thy Soul to drift with every 
wind of woe on the great sea of 
Misery. In tortured days that seem 
long, bitter years. Awaken to the 
starlit heights of thine own Great- 
ness ! Thy Soul shall have its Spring 
and Sunshine, and its Summers of 
new-mown hay, though some Sad- 
ness lay secret within thee. Thy 
power of Help is the power of thine 
own Divine Self. There alone is the 
pure sunlight and the supreme air of 
Success. Albeit the Soil is a stupid 
platitude, saith the Critic, and the 
28 



Rain is a Conglomeration of the Love of 
Common Place. Within thy Soul Self-Heli 
Love saith to Beauty : " Let us make 
the New Ideal after our own like- 
ness. And let the New Ideal have 
dominion over the Future of this 
Man." So Love and Beauty created 
the New Ideal for this Man in their 
own image. And the New Ideal 
wandered quite naked among the 
flowers of Fate. And Love watched 
the growth of the New Ideal ! And 
lo! It was past the eventide of the 
ages. Then Love met the New 
Ideal in the Garden of Death. And 
lo ! It was the sunrise of Humanity. 
And soft waves of tremulous light 
danced in the eyes of Love. And 
a radiance shone on the face of the 
New Ideal as he gazed in the eyes 

29 



Love of of Love. And Love stretched forth 
Self-Help her hand to caress the face of the 
New Ideal and said: " Clothe me 
with thy Beauty, O Fair One." And 
the New Ideal answered Love and 
said : "Thy love of my Beauty is but 
thy desire to Idealize, O Love.y The 
Beauties thou seest in Me are but 
harmonies struck from the loftier 
chords of thine own Soul/' And Love 
smote the lips of the New Ideal with 
kisses of burning ecstasy. And the 
New Ideal held the hand of Love, 
and gazed into her eyes with great 
sadness. For Love secretly desired 
to enrobe herself with the garments 
of the New Ideal. And lo! Love 
sought the home of the New Ideal, 
which is beyond the sun-rising ; and 
she became footsore and aweary. 

30 




RT seeketh the images of Love of 
its Beauty in the trage- Art 
dies of Grief. Even in 
the Grave, and Years that 
bring their winter tide. She kindleth 
Beauty in the kine of the Meadow, 
and the Clouds of the Firmament, 
and in the Mad Despair of a Great 
Love! The darkness of the Symbol 
shall become Light to thee when thy 
brown flowing hair grows white as 
snow. The artist is forever greater 
than his Art, though after Love's 
whirlwind not a pulse-beat stirs. 
The Art of God is the ideal of all 
things, though the smitten soul of the 
Artist be in agony with Love, drip- 
ping from a cross of Pain. The sil- 
very laughter of woodland streams, 

3i 



Love of the stars studding the cloudless night, 
Art the reaches of woody hills, and soft 

rolling valleys. Art seeth greater 
Beauty; though the old Love lost at 
sea, mount up in woe! Art is the 
idealized Passion of Love. Im- 
mortal Form, wreathing itself in a 
fairer Dream. As of some Divine 
soul, amid a pine wood, wandering 
pathetic in a trance of tears, seeking 
the last rest of life! The Artist 
giveth to Common Life its Beauty. 
Yea, to the rock-bells ceaseless chime 
of Love. Imagination painteth the 
picture of the fairer Truth; though 
bitter winds blow rough across 
Love's sea. In Love's chaos Art 
seeth the progress of the centuries; 
yea, in the last sad night when Love 
lay in the arms of Death. Every 
32 



Soul is an Artist working in its own Love of 
Colors. The asphodel, and the hya- Art 
cinth, and the bluebell of the morn- 
ing. The Art that hath no Soul of 
Love hath no Beauty. The crimson 
flower of the ideal hath its roots in a 
Divine soil ! , To idealize the Com- 
mon-place is the proof of a great 
mind. To give grandeur to simplic- 
ity, and a wisdom to the mightier 
worth of lowlier things. To lips 
that now with tender kisses glow. 
The Art of thy Nobler Self giveth 
Light to the Evening of thy Life ; 
for all Beauty is born from the Dark- 
ness of the womb of Pain! Lo! the 
precepts of Art are all written in the 
book of thy Passions; on faces where- 
on rain the tears of Love. Truth is 
but a mean to ends ; to lure the Soul 

33 



Love of on to its time of blossoming; and to 
Art skies flecked with gray. Art furnish- 

eth loftier Beauty, and expresseth the 
face of Reni's Mater, and the waste 
of her hearts tossing spray. Lo ! 
Divine Love is not a stranger to the 
whispering of the pines, or to grief- 
wrung hearts of woe! Where thou 
art Caius, there am I Caia, forever 
and forever ! 



34 




HE clover of the pastures Love for 
welcometh the brown bees Society 
to the kisses of its lips; 
and the lips of the wood- 
land pool waiteth for the lips of the 
thirsty kine. The Morning Wind in 
the Meadow pipeth to the listening 
Buttercups, a new Song of Love; 
and the tangled Woodbine in the 
Woods stayeth his climbing to listen. 
If Society closeth its gilded doors 
against thee, what hast thou to do 
with gilt ? Better that thy trust was 
in a Shepherd's crook, or the sheaves 
of Autumn corn. Love will find for 
Love a way; though the wreck of 
all thy hopes now float ashore. 
Neither waste thy heart with the 
flame of Suspicion, nor make thy feet 

35 



Love for sore traveling for Popularity; nor 
Society make of Love a sad and fruitless 
chase. Among the many is the Soul 
that shall be thy guiding star. Ca- 
lyxes of Love in the Lilies of thy 
Soul. If the wind of popular praise 
fill the sail of thy Hope, shall it not 
flap against the mast of thy loftier 
purposes ? Thou art as a bird caught 
in its torrents sheen, borne on and on 
from Grief to Grief. All things love 
their own, and the pine-tree telleth 
his tale of love to the elm, and there 
is a gladsome gossip in the forest. 
O child of broken heart, some ear of 
human kindness may yet hear thy 
wailing in the Wold of Life, yea, 
though thy Love be but a madness ! 
Kindly hands are waiting to twine 
thy fingers in Love! Behind the 

36 



drifting mists of thy Anxiety, stands Love for 
an unseen Angel swinging its censer Society 
with thine. Be true to thy Nobler 
Self, and Affection s cheek shall red- 
den as she runneth to welcome thee ! 
To be quick to know the World, is to 
be quick to woo Folly. ( Meadows 
of new-mown hay, the sounds of low- 
ing cattle, are lovelier sounds than 
the voices of the streets of cities./ 
Though the falling frost of thy Fail- 
ure chill thee, the Morrow may find 
thee startled at thy Fame! Rain 
fast thy hammer blows, O God of 
Pain! ''Only the gods are crucified \ 
for others. Adam doomed forever 
to pare the apple of Eve with the 
knife of Remorse! To him that 
hath Hunger sitting in State in his 
Soul, the City seemeth a flowerless 

37 



Love for land ! A lure to a region of sadness 
Society Lo ! To her who would be aflame 
with false life, drunk with the wine 
of Pride, there shall be Sorrow! A 
bloody sweat falleth from a crowned 
brow that listeneth in tears to the 
break of the waves. To the wild 
storm of broken hearts ! Yea, to the 
rain of Loves that come too late. 
Thy Passion for Life is thy desire to 
exult in a great sea of Pure Love in 
which thou shalt be bathed in tears. 
Life is a sea that giveth up its Dead 
in renewed forms. The almond 
blossoms of Friendship are thine for 
the asking. I weep for thee because 
I love thee, O Beauty of Friendship ! 
Deceive not thyself, thy Passion for 
Society shall mean to thee a war; and 
pulses afire with the fate of Love. 

38 



The Spring glory of thy Honor may Love for 

wither to an Autumn crimson of Society 

Shame. As Wine mingleth with 

Wine, and in the Chalice becometh 

One; so doth Two Souls become 

One, as Love mingles with Love in 

the Cup of Life. Thrust in thy 

Spear, O Love, and count me as thy 

slain! In Society a Soul shall yet 

cause the river waves of thy Love to 

leap through thy veins in billows of 

enchantment ; and thy Reason shall 

be rocked to sleep. Lo ! The leaves 

on the tree of thy Reason shall dance 

in the mad swirl of thy Ecstatic Joy, 

if thou make thy Highest Love a 

god ! 



39 




HE Oceans have their Love of 
hours of Madness, and Wrong 
the Heavens themselves, Ideals 
lose their equilibrium. 
Thy Genius is a sensitively balanced 
intensity. Worry not thyself be- 
cause of thy lack of poise. The 
Genius is a brother to the Madman. 
The finer balanced thy Sensitiveness, 
the more easily will it be disturbed. 
Ideals are perils. The fascinations 
of Heaven often lead to Hell. Out 
of Tune with the Harmony of the 
Universe, is this false, sad Wind of 
the Evil of Love! Pouring to thee in 
a storm-tossed rain! Sickness and 
Disease are shrill mocking fools of 
Unwise Love, and Sin, and Fear. 
Thy Evil is the mistake of thy Love 

4i 



Love of in its search for Ideals through the 
Wrong gloom of thy years. A perfect Love 
Ideals shall one day slay thy Evil. Gray 
are the Shadows of the Night of thy 
Mistaken Loves, falling o'er the sad- 
ness of thy brow. A Greater Morn- 
ing shall steal across thy purer, newer 
consciousness! Yea, when thou 
kneelest beside a face of death on 
which thou shalt rain tears! Bemoan 
not thy Fate, O Soul ! Lo ! Yonder 
silver gleam of Hope glistening 
through the poplar tree! Through 
the ruin of thy Hopes and Loves. 
The Love that knows no parting 
knows no pain. , Thou art an expres- 
sion of the Infinite One. Thy Soul 
is as a crimson Rose agleam with 
morning dew. No mere drifting 
foam on the restless sea of Fate. 
42 



Thy Soul shall turn to God as the Love of 
Sunflower turns to the Sun and the Wrong 
Amaryllis to its Red Noon of Beauty. Ideals 
Unravel the threads of thy Destiny 
by the firelight of Love, when Time 
at last has gently lined thy brow. 
The dew of Immortal Youth glistens 
bright upon the Garden Home of 
Age, where Love leans against the 
trellis of Sorrow. In the light of an 
Infallible Love shall pass away thy 
Grief, recalling all the love of buried 
years. Thy rest is in a Higher Soul- 
life ! A more August Spiritual Cre- 
ation of the Self. Though thou hast 
gained a harvest home of tears. 
Unsatisfied Love is the Creator of 
Evil, sounding in thee like some 
faint chord of Woe. The climbing 
Brier on the porch of Life, whose 

43 



Love of Rosebuds of Promise break into the 
Wrong Pink of False Ideals of a fatal Color 
Ideals and poisonous Beauty. Evil is relative 
to thine own consciousness, though 
in these sad hours the heart seems far 
from home. Our Evils are passing 
modes of Life. Flickering lights that 
shine in on us, full of ghastliness, 
and are gone forever. Shadows of 
Agony, whose strange shapes drift 
away with the Years. Blossoms of 
Pain blown before the breezes of 
Time! 



44 




NFURL thine own sail, Love of 
embark on thine own Sea, Independ- 
and Heaven shall send ence 
thee a fair Wind, breaking 
through thy Sunset. Reject all 
standards but the loftiest light of 
thine own heart, when the hurried 
winds of the night of thy Years trem- 
ble about thee. To Believe in thine 
own thought, and to die for it, is to 
be greater than Kings. Upon thine 
own Shoulder bear thine own Cross. 
Bid Simon go and play at the 
Brook's Mouth. Read aloud from 
the leaves of the Passions of thine 
own Heart, and the Rivers, and the 
Stars shall stay their courses to listen 
to thy ministration as the twilight 
dies. Behold the truly Great Man, 

45 



> 

Love of for he laugheth at Custom through 
Independ- many summers. Originality sits on 
ence his brow. Conventionality is his 

slave, and he fixes the gulf of his 
own Destiny. Within thine own 
Heart is the light of the Universe, 
the tideless waves of dawning power. 
/He who depends on himself depends 
on his God, even in the sobbing ves- 
per hour of Love. Verily, thy Soul 
was born to wanton in a happier sky 
of deepening repose. The Eagle in 
thy Heart hath wings for the Azure, 
and rejoiceth in the Light of the 
Sun ; yonder, where the Great Still- 
ness broodeth across the faces of the 
Worlds. If thou loathe the mental 
food of the lower popular standards, 
thou shalt be fed by the gods in the 
day of thy desolation. Follow the 

4 6 



wild bent of thy Genius till thou hast Love of 
plumed the far-soaring wing of thy Independ- 
thought in the dusk and the dew of ence 
the Evening of Sorrow. Strike 
from thy Soul the Chains of Lower 
Custom ! Lo ! The god within thee 
pines for his native cloud, and to 
splash in the Higher Sea! The 
Keepers of Opinion are many, and 
each hath a heavier chain. The Jas- 
mine consulteth not the Violet. In 
his own separate Hell of Form where 
the Greater Self is tortured Con- 
formity crowdeth each in his Soli- 
tude of Pretence. Bond Slaves of 
covert dreams. He who frees him- 
self frees his country, and drinks 
from a purer stream. The lust of 
Custom burns in all with a fierce in- 
genious flame, succoring the ruses of 

47 



Love of unfaithful Love. Voice the thun- 
Independ- ders of the divine tempests within 
ence thine own heart, and awake to thy 

nobler worth. Chime thine own 
Morning Bells. To be free to as- 
cend with thy Love is to be Moral, 
and never to know Age, or Ruin, or 
Death. Better the spontaneity and 
caprice of the freedom of a Great 
Love, than the restraint of an Igno- 
ble Fear, sauntering slowly towards 
the wiles of Treachery. The undis- 
ciplined spontaneity of Compassion 
is of more merit than the discipline 
of Hate, brooding along the years of 
Youth. If the Ideal of thine own 
age be greater than thine, follow it. 
If it be lower, follow thine own with 
thoughts of nobler vein. He who 
consecrates a low public opinion as 

4 8 



his Ideal, and calleth it Duty, is Love of 
wanting in Wisdom. Tis but a Independ- 
Mad Sea of Voices, roaring upon ence 
the Harbor-bar of the worldling's 
World. The Lives that know noT\ 
Spontaneity, know no Greatness, in 
Glory, Love, or Art. The Heavens 
shall shine about any man who shall 
be true to his Nobler Self. Behold 
the Lilies ! Each garden-bed bloom- 
eth its own Beauty, and Color, and 
Music. It is better with Tasso to 
be imprisoned for Love, than to live 
in freedom with Hate, as thy Com- 
panion. Hail! Welcome! Blow 
and blow, O Mountain Breezes of 
Thy Wider Liberties, O Soul ! Every 
heart hath its Austerlitz. Hail! Wel- 
come ! Flow and flow, O Rivers 
of Thy Greater Freedom, O Soul! 

49 



Love of Moscow burns in the Souls of all. 

Independ- Hail ! Welcome! Grow and grow, 

ence O Ye Young Flowers of our New 

Humanity ! And ye from whom the 

apple-blooms of the years are falling. 

So 




|0! The Hyacinth and the Love of a 
Pansy live content with Higher 
the Sunshine, and the Air Love 
from the Great Oceans, 
and the Soil, and the falling of Soft 
Rains. They are happy with small 
means. The Buttercup and the Daisy 
of the Meadow seek no luxury. In 
the apparel of the Asphodel, and the 
plumage of the Humming Bird, is a 
Refinement above Fashions. The 
Fern is joyous in its own Worth. 
It careth nothing for Appearances. 
The Jasmine is frank and open, and 
is one in its innocence with Sages, 
and the Birds that fly, and with 
Babes, and the Quiet Stars. Lo! 
The spirituality of the Lily and the 
Lotus grows up through the Dark- 
ness of Sad Experiences. They 

Si 



Love of a await unconsciously, and without 
Higher hurry, the hours of their blossom- 
Love ings of Love. Lo! Love's fitful 

gleam findeth a voice in the Curlew's 
cry, and the Lowing Oxen in the 
Grass, and in the pressing of the red 
lips of Affection. The poison ivy of 
the Dishonored Love that twineth 
about our lives hath its root in a 
darker law. A False Nirvana 
comes in its wild, dark embrace. 
Love is the Wind of the Soul. 
Albeit every Wind of Love doth not 
blow from the South ! Dishonorable 
Love putteth forth her bud of 
Promise, and lo! it becometh a 
Blossom of Shame. In the heart of 
the Wise Man, the Storms of Pas- 
sion often bend the Oaks of Purpose, 
so that they take a deeper hold on 
52 



Wisdom. In the Lover's Vision is Love of a 

no Love but hath in it the Wisdom Higher 

of some Sadness ; though the Flesh Love 

seem vanished like a Spirit's dream. 

The Harbor for Love is Wisdom. 

He that farmeth his Soul for Virtue, 

farmeth on the side of the Volcanoes 

of the Darkness of his own Love. 

Though the Wise Man bridleth his 

Love, nevertheless he knoweth that 

dark torrents may run in small 

ravines, though we by no one else but 

God are seen. There is more error 

in Reason than in Love, when all 

thy Reason is but the Darkness of 

Seduction and Ignorance; though I 

stand praying with my lips on thine. 

A false Reason decoyeth a Soul 

from the Truth of its Noblest Love. 

All things have their Season in 

53 



Love of a Love. Error and the fruits that 
Higher ripen on the trees of Folly; and on 
Love slopes of Danger, where thy perils 

lie. There are Many Rivers of 
Love in the Soul, and all are navi- 
gable to the ships of Sorrow. An 
old False Love shall teach thee a 
New Despair, and the Wild Beasts 
of thy Pain shall teach thee much 
Wisdom. My Love is a Lamp all 
a-quiver that mingles its Sadness with 
thine, O Sorrow! To Forgive is to 
be Royal, and to Forget is to be 
Contented. O weary and world-worn 
Soul, wipe for him the blade the As- 
sassin has plunged into thine own 
Heart, kiss his cheek and return to 
him his weapon, with a mute implor- 
ing grace. 



54 




ITH eyes inflamed by The 
Weeping, I became the Miseri- 
Bride of Pain. For the cordia 
Ruin of my Life had 
Reason went insane. 



come, and 
When he laughed at my Dishonor as 
Devotion bowed and prayed; At the 
Organ of my Soul I knelt to hear 
my Requiem played. First, Hunger 
struck the organ chords, and sobbed 
through all her song; As her sad 
voice told in throbs of Woe the story 
of my Wrong. How I wandered 
through Judea's streets with Madness 
for a Friend; And Hunger struck the 
keyboard twice and begged the chant 
should end! Next, Poverty, half 
choked with tears, then chanted of my 
woes; A Life wherein the Thorns 

55 



OF THE 

Magdalen 



The had left no place to bloom a Rose. 

Miseri- Among the keys thin fingers strayed, 

cordia her pale cheeks wet with tears; I 

of the heard her Voice of Anguish chant the 

Magdalen Miseries of Years. Next, Fear sat 

down and changed the stops all 

trembling and alone; With glance 

askance she swept the keys in Terror 

at the tone. The chant Fear sang 

was weird with Pain, and Dark with 

Midnight Gloom; Without a Friend 

in all the World I heard my Awful 

Doom. Next, Hope appeared, and 

smiled on me and touched the organ's 

stops; Whilst Cheerfulness picked 

from the floor .the music Hope had 

dropped. Hope bade me look to 

Fairer Days, and as she sang her air; 

My sky of Life grew bright again, 

once clouded with Despair. Next, 

56 



Love, celestial singer came and took The 
the organ seat; And with Him came Miseri- 
Pure Pity, softly sighing at His feet, cordia 
Love's Voice grew sad and sweeter, of the 
till His miracle of Sound; Becalmed Magdalen 
each pang of Sorrow, and the Sad- 
ness Sorrow found. As Love sang 
on with Broken Heart, and told His 
Life of Tears; And of the Wrecks of 
Happiness that strew the Shores of 
Years; Mad Jealousy forgot his Pain, 
and Anger knew no Spite; For in 
Love's greater Agony the Darkness 
saw the Light ! 

57 




|HE Wings of Love are Love of 
ever a-gleam with Thy Soul Love 
Story of Sorrow. Herald- 
ing thy glad birth of Ad- 
vancement. Yea, the glory of thy 
Love through the Sea-gull's cry of 
Death and swoop of Years. Love 
awakeneth Life from her lily-flowered 
bed as her laughter ripples softly in 
its flow. Love asserteth a Guardian 
Angel dwelleth in the Scarlet Mead- 
ows of the Sky, and where the wild 
storm-king of thy Love is in air with 
shaft a-gleam. She whispers of the 
mist fields of the Sky; and where, in 
the maiden's cheeks, the Hollyhocks 
are a-bloom. Truth is the only end 
of Science; but Love useth her 
truth for Greater Purposes. Its 

59 



Love of fires scorcheth the heart of Love 
Soul Love with its Pain; and the flame of its 
Shame. Science interpreteth Mat- 
ter as the end of Life, flowing all 
sad as a dream to its sea. But Love 
hath a secret stair to a Higher Wis- 
dom. All Death is relative to Life, 
saith Love, as she shaketh her 
golden hair; for Glory, Art, and 
Love hath dark as well as sunny 
days for hearts estranged by Pain. 
Thy Soul is a tired bird, and 
needeth its Sunset of Rest. As a 
Lark starteth up from the Meadow, 
and reacheth the gold of the Sun, so 
thou shalt awake to the Art of thy 
Life, and soar at thy morning hour. 
Nevertheless, thy lips must first 
drink the Wine they drink in Hell ! 
The tenderness for which you yearn 
60 



shall seem to others but a madness. Love of 
In Grief, thou shalt shed hot tears and Soul Love 
turn away! Love heareth the songs 
of the Roses as they blow. In notes 
that Mortals never know. In Voices 
that wander over Life's bleak hill. 
To the Great a Pure Love is Greater 
than Honor. If thou shouldst die 
To-Night, the Errors of thy Love are 
but the Earthly Vestments of thy 
Soul, teaching a surer foot-path for 
thy Love to tread. Love is as a 
Sacred Fire burning in all things. Its 
crops of Hope ripen with the Years; 
though the Heart be travel-worn with 
Grief. The ashes of Love hath a 
greater Learning than Learning. 
The air was bleak, and yet we wan- 
dered on. The City lights below had 
joined the stars. Thy darkly splendid 

61 



Love of Love shall change its seeming, and 
Soul Love men will say how can this thing be ? 
For thy voice shall be choked with 
sobs; though thou hast climbed the 
steeps of Love's own sweet romance. 
The blind profundity of thy Love 
hath led thee to a faithless depth 
to teach thee Wisdom. A tragedy 
and sacrifice of Pain. In Dark- 
ness lay the hillside like a dream. 
By Love shall man fall and by Love 
shall he rise again ! We sought each 
Shadow where the Fences leaned. 
Yea, Love shall have dearer Hopes 
and brighter Days; though I smooth 
thy hair with- tearful tenderness. 
Whirlwinds of Intellectual Love 
draw all things unto them; for all 
Reason is the Passion of Thought. 
We held each other's Hands and 
62 



both felt Strong. For every heart Love of 
hath its June of Love and its bloom- Soul Love 
ing of Roses! We sat at length 
where yonder white stones spread. 
In the Errors of Love are the 
hidden secrets of Eternal Bliss and 
Woe. The Pain and the Flowers 
of Pain. For the winds of Caprice 
are still blowing the sails of thy Fu- 
ture to a Loftier Love. The Love 
that seeth the Purer Light hath a 
Knowledge deeper than Sages though 
the Future leave no Gate ajar by 
which we meet. Say not thy Loftier 
Love is wild and spendthrift; the 
heart of the Primrose understandeth 
thee, and the Rose, and the Violet, 
and the Nightingale, the bird of God 
that singeth in the gray woodland. 

6 3 




LIMB the Solitary Moun- Love of 
tain of thy Ideal ! It shall Appre- 
afford Thee a more Mag- ciation 
nificent Prospect if Thou 
wilt forsake the Praise of the Ignor- 
ant! (Slam thy Door in the faces of 
Fools and Wise Men shall come and 
peer in thy Windows. ) Thy passion 
for the Praise of those who are 
Higher than thy Neighbors shall be 
a Power in thy Life to Winnow away 
the Chaff of thy Ignorance and to 
force Thee through the raging surf of 
Fate! Love the praise of the truly 
Great Man, and the Slopes of the 
Hills of thy Life shall be covered with 
Vines of Spiritual Joy. Triumph 
and Power shall come to Thee though 
thy Heavens be Rife with Tumult. 

65 



Love of Thy running hither and thither for 
Appre- the Praise of Common Souls shall 
ciation make thee Common. Thou art strik- 
ing a Treacherous Shoal. Thy Love 
for Praise is only of Worth as it shall 
lead Men to Love Thee for thy 
Mental Worth, and the Noontide 
Splendor of thy Thought! Albeit, 
greater than the Praise of Men is 
the Love of Men. Those who seek 
Fame rather than Love, seek much 
Sorrow, hopelessly battling with 
Wind and Wave of Opinion. Thy 
Sun shall Rise to Shine again on 
some near Shore of Fame; for the 
Wind of Hope down the River of 
Life is Fair. Thy Fame is a Tide 
with an Ebb and a Flow. The 
Wise Soul expecteth the Hour of 
the Ebb. Though thy Ship in the 
66 



Bay is ashore the Life Boats are Love of 
many. Thy Worth is the Volcano Appre- 
that shall Raise the Mountain of thy ciation 
Fame. He who toils for the Praise 
of Fools, toils for the Rainbow. 
Though the Standards of Praise are 
more numerous than the Stars never- 
theless all Men turn their Faces to 
the Stars. Honor is as Wind, and 
Men are as Grass, and the Grass 
waves in the Wind. The Cedar 
desireth the Good Opinion of the 
Oak, and saith: "Are Not My 
Branches Exceeding Beautiful?" 
Whereupon the Oak replieth: " Thy 
branches spread Ungainly, O Cedar, 
and thy R.oots are Gnarled." 
Wherefore there is Strife among the 
Trees of the Forest ! A good Opin- 
ion decideth the Scales of Love; and 

6 7 



Love of the Desire of Opinion is the Al- 
Appre- mighty's way in the Growth of the 
ciation Minds of Men. The Missel-thrush 
singeth in the Glade to its Mate, 
and the Lion sheweth the Lioness 
his Strength, in the Silence of the 
Desert ( Lo ! The Bow that is not 
Bent dischargeth no Arrow, and thy 
Sensitiveness to Blame hath made 
thee Excellent in Ancient Strength. 
Look not on the Wine of the Flat- 
terer's Praise. Cherish the Judg- 
ment of the Blunt Man of a tyran- 
nous freedom. Lo ! The Fool shall 
praise thee for thy Folly, and the 
Wise Man shall praise thee for thy 
Wisdom if thy Heart be true. Bet- 
ter the Cold North Wind of Satire 
to Blow away thy Conceit than the 
Warm South Wind of Affection 
68 



indulging thee in Self-valuations of Love of 
Narrowness, and the curbless passion Appre- 
of Pride. When Ignorance crouch- ciation 
eth on her Nest, verily her Mate 
singeth to her of the Joys of Folly! 
Seek thou the Praise of the Purest ; 
or Rudderless thy Soul shall drift 
across the Ocean of thy Years. 
When the Light breaks from the 
pure Heavens, its Truth deceiveth no 
Man. Thy Passion to be Worthy 
of the Just Praise of the Highest 
Minds is the Eagle of thy Ideal soar- 
ing in the Sky of its perfection ; for 
all Praise is relative to the Greatness, 
Intelligence and Purity of the One 
Praising Thee. Appreciate the New- 
Age, for the Sowers of a New Wis- 
dom are in the Fields. The Oaks 
wear an over-bold Glory. Behold 

6 9 



Love of the Woodland's New Fire of Gold! 
Appre- The Rain of Science, and a Might- 
ciation ier Love are Gladdening the Parched 
Earth! drowsing in Golden Sunlight. 
Doubt causeth many new Flowers to 
appear in the Fields of Knowledge, 
and the Vines of Wisdom are putting 
forth new grapes. Yea, Doubt slay- 
eth the Foxes of Jealousy that spoil 
the Vines of Love. Lo ! Doubt 
sought Love by Night on her Bed 
and whispered to Her: Arise, O 
Love, from thy Couch of Past Ideas? 
Come away, my Fair One? Lo ! 
The Winter of the World's Supersti- 
tion is Past, the Storm is Over and 
Gone ! And Love gazed into the 
eyes of Doubt and said : Lo ! I 
behold that thou art Fair, O Doubt ! 
I will wander forth with thee to the 
70 



Mountains, until the Day break, and Love of 
the Shadows flee away. And Love Appre- 
arose from her Bed and wandered ciation 
forth with Doubt. And in the Dawn 
of the New Age they plucked for 
themselves Lilies that grew in a 
New Garden of Greater Beauty, and 
Truth, and Goodness. 

7i 




HE Sharpness of Need, is Love of 
the Test of Friendship ! Friend- 
In those Darker Hours ship 
just before the Dawn of 
thy Success are the Stars of Friend- 
ship welcome. Not in the Fiercer 
Splendor of thy Noon of Glory! 
And though it Wanteth an Hour still 
of thy Day of Success, nevertheless 
thy Sun is Rising, and thy Mountain 
Tops are aglow with Climbing Rays 
of Light! Can I help Thee when 
Slander roars like a Cataract about 
thy Life? When the Shadows of 
the Night of thy Despair come on? 
When the Winds of Persecution 
howl around thy Reputation? Quiv- 
ering in the Mad Play of their Cruelty 
with thy Name? When thy Ruin 

73 



Love of flows like a Universal Deluge? 
Friend- And thy Days are full of the Storm 
ship and Thunder of Disgrace? When 
thy Heart is a Wave-washed Wreck 
of Love, and Fate hath hurled Thee 
deep in the trough of the Wave of 
Despair? When Poverty shocks 
Thee with its Eddying Storm? 
When Life seems but a Foul Wind 
of Dishonor and Failure? If I can 
help Thee in these Hours then am I 
thy Friend ? When all cries from 
Thee to the Shore are drowned in 
the roar of the Sea? There is a 
False Thing that doth Disgrace the 
name of Friendship. It basketh in 
the Tamarisk shade of thy Fame ; 
and leaveth Thee helpless when thy 
Ship seems doomed. It is the Friend- 
ship of Serene Days and of Elegant 

74 



Leopard Skins, and of a Tiger's Love of 
Thirst, and of Hours when Thou art Friend- 
riding high on the crest of Pros- ship 
perity and the World smiles on Thee. 
It valueth a House and the Wine 
Vat as Ideals, and often findeth its 
Joys in Satyrs, and Bacchantes, and 
the opaline tremors of Flattery. It 
quoteth Poetry with a Dainty Lip 
and Lazily Shepherdeth a Flock of 
Follies ; yet leaveth Thee in treach- 
erous Despair when thy Masts go by 
the Board, and the Sea pours o'er 
Thee, and all the Wind and Wave 
of Society are in fierce conflict about 
thy seemingly Wrecked Prospects. 
When the Sad River of thy Life 
wearieth of its Disappointing Flow. 
When each timber in Thee creak, 
and thy Cargo seem but Wind and 

75 



Love of Water. When the Sailors of thy 
Friend- Hopes ply their Laboring Oars of 
ship Effort in Vain. When wild cries of 

Agony burst from thy Stricken Soul, 
and Reason seems whirled away in 
the Spray of the Storm. If I will 
not aid Thee in such an hour how 
hollow is my Friendship ! O Vigi- 
lant Mother of Friendship bending 
in Agony over the Wasted Face of 
Ambition ! Measure Friendship by 
its Bravery; for the Coward is a 
Friend only to Self. O Crimson 
Roses of Friendship washed to a 
Dying Whiteness by the Treacheries 
of Love! The Coward mounteth in 
Hot Haste the Steed of Distrust 
when Trouble comes. When 
Reason seeks for Treasure and 
findeth none. In the Equality of 

7 6 



Mental Power and Ideals is the Love of 
Strength of Friendship; for those Friend- 
who Love not thy Ideals, are not in ship 
Mental Affinity with Thee. All 
Creation widens when Thou hast 
found a Friend of Great Knowledge 
and Love. And yet Thou must 
possess some Excellence thy Friend 
hath not. Else by what Magnet of 
Worth canst Thou attract and hold 
thy Friend? Thy Social Ambition 
is but a Vulture preying upon the 
Heart of Friendship. Seek thy 
Shelter in some Happier Star. Our 
Thoughts of Friendship are but 
Stars ruling the Night of Our 
Hopes in the jewelled skies of Life. 
The Soul said, "Let there be 
Light!" and Lo ! Great Stars of 
Love appeared in the Firmament 

77 



Love of of its Reason. Many are the trees of 
Friend- Good and Evil in the Orchards of 
ship Friendship. Habit thyself, though 

with Pain, to rise to the Best 
Thoughts of thy Friend; for thy 
Loftier Knowledge is the Proof of 
thy Fitness to talk with the Gods. 
Of the Evil fruitage of the Tree of 
Friendship many are the Eves that 
Die Enamored. The Wind of thy 
Friendship, O Woman, is in travail, 
and it Pipeth Drearily the Song of 
thy Past Follies. Bridle thy Lower 
Soul, and a Purer Love shall save 
Thee from the Stormier Sea of thy 
Fate. Yea, .the Aerial Caravan of 
all thy Loftier Thoughts of Friend- 
ship shall follow Thee Beyond thy 
last Sunset, Shepherded by the 
Angels of thy Dying Years. 

7% 



Despise not the lowly Origin of thy Love of 
Wisdom, O Friend! What if the Friend- 
silky seeds of thy Knowledge, fall- ship 
ing Wantonly on thy Soul, were 
blown there by the Strong Winds of 
Passion ? 



79 







Class 



ftnnk ' 



Copyright!^ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Library of Congress 
Branch Bindery, 1903 



